


Tendrils

by Sara_Ellison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Ellison/pseuds/Sara_Ellison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not mourning that Cas needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tendrils

**Author's Note:**

> The title sucks. I'm sorry. I couldn't come up with anything better, I realized this morning that this was going to be Jossed by tonight's episode so I had to get it written and posted ASAP. Didn't have time to be clever about it.

Cas looks rather the worse for wear when he flutters into the bunker. Dean has never seen him actually flying, per se, but there must be some sort of _landing_ mechanism because Cas fails to stick it. He stumbles a little as he appears as though jarred by the impact, unbalanced, and Dean is reaching out to catch him, moving as though he isn’t on the other side of the room and too far to catch the angel before he falls.

Cas manages to keep his feet, though, somehow. “It’s safe,” he says, “the tablet is safe,” as though that matters. Maybe in the grand scheme it _is_ kind of important, but Dean doesn’t really care, because Cas has horrifically dark circles under his eyes and a split lip that’s only barely healed. He looks worse than Sam, who’s standing there, hip propped against the kitchen table, leaning against it harder than he tries to pretend he is.

“Cas,” Sam says. “What about you? Are you okay?”

Cas gives him a quick smile, brief flash of white teeth. “Yes, Sam. Thank you. You don’t need to worry about me.” _Worry about yourself._ It’s unspoken, loud as a scream. The angel’s eyes flick back to Dean and lock in place. “What happened after I left with the tablet?” he asks, urgency straining behind his voice. “Did Meg--” He swallows. “Survive?”

“No,” Dean says flatly. “Crowley ganked her.”

Cas blinks hard and sways a little. Dean grabs his arm and leads him to the couch. “Are--are you sure?” Cas asks, and some very unpleasant tendril of emotion twists in Dean’s chest: pity, mostly, he _hates_ seeing Cas upset, but he doesn’t _want_ Cas to be upset over _her_.

“Pretty sure,” Dean says, remorseless or nearly so.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Sam offers gently.

“Why?” Dean snaps, angry. “After everything she did, I’d think you of all people would be lining up to dance on her grave. She violated you, Sam!”

“She was my friend,” Cas says dully.

“She was a _demon_ ,” Dean corrects harshly.

“For God’s sake, Dean,” Sam says. “Give him a chance to mourn.”

Dean’s fists clench and unclench at his sides. “Okay,” he grits out. “Let’s pretend that her being your _friend_ makes up for how many of our friends and family she’s killed. She set hellhounds on us, she murdered Ellen and Jo, but that’s all okay now because you kissed her once and enjoyed it, right?”

Cas glares up at Dean, his eyes bright and wet. “She cared for me when I was in the hospital, when _you_ left me,” he says.

It hits Dean in the gut and knocks the wind out of him. He opens his mouth and finds that he has nothing to say. He sits down on the other end of the couch and scrubs a hand across his face. “Yeah,” he admits at last.

“It doesn’t absolve her,” Cas says. “But she was still...”

“Your friend,” Sam finishes for him.

Cas is silent for a moment, staring at his shoes. “We had plans,” he mumbles at last. “For later. We were going to...” He trails off.

Dean glances up to see Sam wandering purposefully out of the room. “Going to what?” he presses, hating himself, because he really doesn’t want to know. He does know, but he needs to hear it from Cas’ lips.

“I’m pretty sure it was a sexual euphemism,” Cas says clearly.

That uncomfortable tendril in Dean’s chest grows thicker and stronger, squeezing. “And you wanted to?” he demands, despising each word as it leaves his mouth.

Cas shrugs. “I think so. I lack experience in this area, but I--I think I would have enjoyed it.” His voice is getting quieter as he speaks. “I found her attractive, and we did have something of an emotional connection. A rapport. I was...looking forward to, to exploring that side of the human experience...with her.” He gulps, and Dean realizes with a start that he’s crying, nearly silent sobs shaking his frame.

Dean moves without really thinking about it, shifting closer to him on the couch and wrapping an arm around the angel’s shoulders, pulling him in against Dean’s side. Cas turns in toward him, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, his tears dampening Dean’s collar. Dean brings his other arm up, enfolding the angel in a full-body hug. “Cas,” he murmurs, “ssh.” Cas’ hands are fisted against Dean’s back, gripping handfuls of his shirt, and he doesn’t seem to want to let go any time soon. Dean doesn’t want him to.

*****

When Dean wakes up, the lights are off. He and Cas are still wrapped around each other on the couch, but they’ve somehow shifted to lie horizontally, Dean trapped between the back of the couch and Cas’ body. He doesn’t remember moving, or adjusting the position of the throw pillow that’s now under their heads; the last thing he recalls was holding his angel, unmoving, for as long as Cas needed him to.

He certainly doesn’t remember turning out the lights, or pulling the blanket over them that’s now draped across their bodies. That must have been Sam, returning to the living room after Dean and Cas had fallen asleep. Dean is warm and comfortable; between the blanket, Cas’ body heat, and the solid, reassuring weight of him in Dean’s arms, Dean is securely in that zone of pure contentment that makes him feel like he never wants to move again. He shifts his head a fraction, nestling into the pillow and sighing softly, and his parted lips brush Cas’.

Dean hadn’t realized how close their faces were, in the dark. It’s soft, the barest drag of skin against silken skin, and it’s the most sensual thing Dean has ever experienced, sending electricity flooding through his body. Breathing shakily, he does it again, a minute movement that touches his mouth slightly to Cas’ and sets him alight. His lips right now are more sensitive than anything Dean has ever felt before, and his whole body is trembling, teetering on the verge of _something_ he’s at a loss to define.

He licks his lips, instinctive, a nervous habit, but he’s so close that the tip of his tongue sweeps over Cas’ lips too, and then there’s Cas’ tongue flicking back at his, kissing him back with a firmer press of lips and _Castiel is kissing him back_ , whimpering into his mouth and pressing his body hard against Dean’s, and Dean is shivering apart, shattering into fragments of light and shuddering in release.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel moans, hitching his hips against Dean’s, blatantly desperate. Dean reaches down, forcing a hand between their bodies to cup Cas, squeezing and stroking until Cas tenses up, twitching under Dean’s palm as he cries out.

After that there is only heat and darkness and breath. Dean presses his face against Cas’, the stubble of his beard scraping roughly, not daring to allow their lips to touch again for fear he will never be able to stop. His heart is pounding against the inside of his ribcage, freed from its constricting tendril; he wonders if Cas can feel it. He’s slipping back into that comfortable place where he doesn’t ever want to move; it will be a while yet before he starts to be bothered by the sticky mess in his pants.

He feels Cas’ indrawn breath against his cheek before he speaks. “You never asked,” he says softly. “Dean, I only wanted to--with her, because _you_ never asked me to, and she did.”

Dean winces. “Okay,” he says, “well. Now, I’m asking. I don’t want you to _want to_ with anyone else.”

“I don’t,” Cas answers. He tightens his grip on Dean, and Dean smiles against his cheek.

*****

He wakes up again when Sam flicks on the living room lights in the morning. “You know,” Sam says dryly, “for a non-couple, you two have got to be the most sickeningly sweet pair of people I have the misfortune to know.” 

Dean is hard-pressed to keep his instinctive grin reined in to a mere smirk. He nudges Cas until the angel stretches and sits up, letting Dean move. “Who says we’re not a couple?” he says. The stickiness has become uncomfortable. He holds out a hand to Cas, helping him to his feet. “Come on, I need a shower,” he announces, and doesn’t let go of his lover’s hand as he heads past his dumbfounded brother.

**Author's Note:**

> The first kiss was a thing I dreamed, like a regular dream while I was asleep. Thank you, subconscious. I had the vague structure of this fic already in my head, with the snuggling and sexing on the couch, and decided to incorporate the two.


End file.
